FANFIC - A CONVERSATION WITH DEATH (BETH/DARYL, TWD)
Title: A Conversation With Death
Characters: Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon, and many others
Rating: pg-13 (for this chapter, I'm expecting that rating to go up)
Word Count: 1,005
Summary: The end and the beginning, and everything in between. Beth Greene was born and then lived her entire life. Daryl Dixon lit a match and watched the world go down in flames. CONTAINS SPOILERS UP THROUGH 5.08, CODA. 3rd in the Wildwood Flower series.
Disclaimer:All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note:I'm sorry for the shorter update, and many thanks to everyone who has read and commented. Input is quite welcome! It's been a long time since I wrote fic, and this is a journey for me, sort of relearning my process and finetuning some rusty skills. I must thank kadie_darling for giving this a lookover and offering encouragement. Any mistakes are my own.
The house had gone back to quiet. Well, not the house, not really. Everyone was still moving around, repairing fences and cars, tending fields and digging graves, but Beth’s mind had gone silent. No music, no thoughts even. No nothing.
All she wanted to do was scream.
Maggie was off with her boy, Patricia was robotically going through the motions of running the farm, Daddy was nowhere to be found, there were strangers all over her house and Beth had nothing.
The night after they laid Mom and Shawn in the ground (and it seemed that everybody was too afraid or too ashamed to call it what it was, a mass grave), Beth snuck into Jimmy’s room and took off her tee shirt. She climbed on top of him and started kissing him, and he gently pushed her aside, saying that she didn’t know what she was doing, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Beth got dressed and left his room. (She didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time she would ever kiss Jimmy.)
One day, she woke up in her father’s bed. Lori, that dark-haired woman with real tired eyes, Carl’s mama, was sitting next to her, watching, concerned. Maggie had told her that Lori was pregnant. As the room came into focus, Beth felt white-hot hate for that tiny, unborn baby. Why did it get to have a mother when she had to lose two perfectly good ones?
There was a blur of time in which Beth couldn’t remember much- even later, even when she forced herself to think on those days, but later on, she would always remember seeing the blood run red and angry from her wrist and the throbbing pain that accompanied it and the way that made her feel. In that moment, she wanted more pain, more blood, any and all reminders that she was alive. She got it in Maggie’s eyes- horror and fear. She wasn’t slipping away. She was still here. She had a choice.
She slept for a long time, and when she woke up, it was dark, and her daddy was there. “Hey Bethy,” he whispered, eyes bright and alert. She reached out a hand for him and saw that her wrist was neatly bandaged. Patricia’s stitches weren’t so meticulous. The bedsheets were clean, and so was her nightgown. She felt so taken care of in that moment, it almost made her sick.
“Daddy, I’m sorry…” she started to cry.
“Shh, shhh, none of that now,” Her daddy looked old. He’d had white hair as long as she could remember. But he was an old man now, overnight. Beth felt like it had been years since she’d seen him.
“Where’d you go, Daddy?” She worried the sheets between her fingers.
Hershel grimaced, ashamed. “Not gonna leave you again, Doodlebug.”
Then there were more deaths. That kind old man Dale, and Patricia was ripped straight out of her hand. Three mothers. Lori nearly ripped Beth’s arm out of its socket before the walker who had Patricia could gnaw its way up to Beth. She threw her in the truck waiting with T-Dog.
Her daddy hadn’t left the farm. Beth saw him, standing on his own with an old shotgun against hundreds of walkers, coming up over the rise of their fields.
Beth screamed as T-Dog screeched the truck away from the farm- her whole life, Mama’s grave, Mom and Shawn barely cold in the ground, Patricia torn to bits, Maggie who knows where, her daddy and his shotgun. “Let me back, let me go back!”
“No baby girl, there’s no going back there,” Lori put her arms around her, partially to keep her still, but she held her firm, tucked Beth’s head into her shoulder, and Beth could feel cool, dry lips brush her brow and a barely audible murmur, s’okay, I got you.
No. No more mothers.
Beth didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, her head was on Lori’s shoulder, and she was absent-mindedly pushing her blond hair back. It was daylight. Beth couldn't believe the sun would shine after a night like that.
They found Daryl and Carol first- they'd been out in the open all night, on his motorcycle. Nobody stopped, Daryl and T-Dog just nodded to each other and Lori breathed out a harsh thank God as the tiniest bit of hope grew in her eyes. They followed each other off to the highway, and Beth screamed when she saw Maggie's SUV. She waved at her sister through the window, both of them were crying.
When they got out to the freeway, and the three figures came into focus - two men and a boy - Beth sagged against Lori. She ran straight into her daddy's arms and sobbed as he held her. "Not gonna leave you again."
*
Daryl looked down at the ground, at the spot his body had made an imprint after so many days of laying in the mud, and then back to the walker, ambling down the long, empty road. It had been dead a while, it was more skeleton in some parts than it was flesh and blood.
Daryl, go back. You should go back.
He closed his eyes and let that voice wash over him. Sweet laughter rushed through him and then was carried off with the wind. He felt cold breeze hit him behind the neck and his eyes flew open, futilely searching the sky for something, anything, straining to hear that voice again. He touched his hand to the ground. "Please."
And then he heard her again, singing, off in the distance, getting further away.
Daryl didn't think. He hefted his crossbow and fired, muscle memory taking over and the walker was down with a clean shot, finally within grabbing distance. He pulled his arrow out and with a glance back to the cold hole in the ground followed that sweet voice.
Go back. Find me.
<<<333
Characters: Beth Greene, Daryl Dixon, and many others
Rating: pg-13 (for this chapter, I'm expecting that rating to go up)
Word Count: 1,005
Summary: The end and the beginning, and everything in between. Beth Greene was born and then lived her entire life. Daryl Dixon lit a match and watched the world go down in flames. CONTAINS SPOILERS UP THROUGH 5.08, CODA. 3rd in the Wildwood Flower series.
Disclaimer:All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note:I'm sorry for the shorter update, and many thanks to everyone who has read and commented. Input is quite welcome! It's been a long time since I wrote fic, and this is a journey for me, sort of relearning my process and finetuning some rusty skills. I must thank kadie_darling for giving this a lookover and offering encouragement. Any mistakes are my own.
The house had gone back to quiet. Well, not the house, not really. Everyone was still moving around, repairing fences and cars, tending fields and digging graves, but Beth’s mind had gone silent. No music, no thoughts even. No nothing.
All she wanted to do was scream.
Maggie was off with her boy, Patricia was robotically going through the motions of running the farm, Daddy was nowhere to be found, there were strangers all over her house and Beth had nothing.
The night after they laid Mom and Shawn in the ground (and it seemed that everybody was too afraid or too ashamed to call it what it was, a mass grave), Beth snuck into Jimmy’s room and took off her tee shirt. She climbed on top of him and started kissing him, and he gently pushed her aside, saying that she didn’t know what she was doing, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Beth got dressed and left his room. (She didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time she would ever kiss Jimmy.)
One day, she woke up in her father’s bed. Lori, that dark-haired woman with real tired eyes, Carl’s mama, was sitting next to her, watching, concerned. Maggie had told her that Lori was pregnant. As the room came into focus, Beth felt white-hot hate for that tiny, unborn baby. Why did it get to have a mother when she had to lose two perfectly good ones?
There was a blur of time in which Beth couldn’t remember much- even later, even when she forced herself to think on those days, but later on, she would always remember seeing the blood run red and angry from her wrist and the throbbing pain that accompanied it and the way that made her feel. In that moment, she wanted more pain, more blood, any and all reminders that she was alive. She got it in Maggie’s eyes- horror and fear. She wasn’t slipping away. She was still here. She had a choice.
She slept for a long time, and when she woke up, it was dark, and her daddy was there. “Hey Bethy,” he whispered, eyes bright and alert. She reached out a hand for him and saw that her wrist was neatly bandaged. Patricia’s stitches weren’t so meticulous. The bedsheets were clean, and so was her nightgown. She felt so taken care of in that moment, it almost made her sick.
“Daddy, I’m sorry…” she started to cry.
“Shh, shhh, none of that now,” Her daddy looked old. He’d had white hair as long as she could remember. But he was an old man now, overnight. Beth felt like it had been years since she’d seen him.
“Where’d you go, Daddy?” She worried the sheets between her fingers.
Hershel grimaced, ashamed. “Not gonna leave you again, Doodlebug.”
Then there were more deaths. That kind old man Dale, and Patricia was ripped straight out of her hand. Three mothers. Lori nearly ripped Beth’s arm out of its socket before the walker who had Patricia could gnaw its way up to Beth. She threw her in the truck waiting with T-Dog.
Her daddy hadn’t left the farm. Beth saw him, standing on his own with an old shotgun against hundreds of walkers, coming up over the rise of their fields.
Beth screamed as T-Dog screeched the truck away from the farm- her whole life, Mama’s grave, Mom and Shawn barely cold in the ground, Patricia torn to bits, Maggie who knows where, her daddy and his shotgun. “Let me back, let me go back!”
“No baby girl, there’s no going back there,” Lori put her arms around her, partially to keep her still, but she held her firm, tucked Beth’s head into her shoulder, and Beth could feel cool, dry lips brush her brow and a barely audible murmur, s’okay, I got you.
No. No more mothers.
Beth didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up, her head was on Lori’s shoulder, and she was absent-mindedly pushing her blond hair back. It was daylight. Beth couldn't believe the sun would shine after a night like that.
They found Daryl and Carol first- they'd been out in the open all night, on his motorcycle. Nobody stopped, Daryl and T-Dog just nodded to each other and Lori breathed out a harsh thank God as the tiniest bit of hope grew in her eyes. They followed each other off to the highway, and Beth screamed when she saw Maggie's SUV. She waved at her sister through the window, both of them were crying.
When they got out to the freeway, and the three figures came into focus - two men and a boy - Beth sagged against Lori. She ran straight into her daddy's arms and sobbed as he held her. "Not gonna leave you again."
*
Daryl looked down at the ground, at the spot his body had made an imprint after so many days of laying in the mud, and then back to the walker, ambling down the long, empty road. It had been dead a while, it was more skeleton in some parts than it was flesh and blood.
Daryl, go back. You should go back.
He closed his eyes and let that voice wash over him. Sweet laughter rushed through him and then was carried off with the wind. He felt cold breeze hit him behind the neck and his eyes flew open, futilely searching the sky for something, anything, straining to hear that voice again. He touched his hand to the ground. "Please."
And then he heard her again, singing, off in the distance, getting further away.
Daryl didn't think. He hefted his crossbow and fired, muscle memory taking over and the walker was down with a clean shot, finally within grabbing distance. He pulled his arrow out and with a glance back to the cold hole in the ground followed that sweet voice.
Go back. Find me.
<<<333